


Kiss The Skin That Crawls From You

by lesbianbookworm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt!Sam, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Assault, Victim Blaming, as always :-), chuck is a creepy creeper in this one, its not my fault. i had no choice!, not my fault that he acts really gross towards Sam and Sam said that 'he likes to watch', spn 15x09 spoilers, the title is brought to you by: hozier fanfic title generator bc I Am Just Predictable Like That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianbookworm/pseuds/lesbianbookworm
Summary: “Maybe you just need to be reminded of your place”, Chuck muses. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but… You leave me no other choice. So, I thought I’d give you a friendly reminder of what I can do to you.” Chuck settles onto a chair he just magicked out of thin air, folding his legs as he rests his chin on his hand, watching Lucifer’s fingers travel up Sam’s throat, their touch deceptively gentle. Sam expects violence, tries to cower from it, memories of the cage wafting up unbidden, but then Chuck smiles. “Don’t worry, Sam. He’s not gonna torture you. Not right now anyway. ‘Cause, you were right, I do like to watch and I’m kinda done with gore for tonight."
Relationships: Chuck Shurley/Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 86





	Kiss The Skin That Crawls From You

**Author's Note:**

> Tw for sexual assault, victim blaming and multiple mentions of past rape/sexual assault this one.  
> Also some spoilers for 15x09, because I wrote this as a canon divergent, not-missing scene, How-To-Make-This-Creepier-And-Bring-Up-More-Of-Sams-Trauma scene. Set after the weird vampire future scene and before Cas and Dean arrive to lock Chuck up.
> 
> I Just Got Some Bad Vibes From Chuck and so, of course, I had to write this.

“So, what’d you think?” For a moment Chuck’s words don’t register for Sam, still caught up in the sensation of Bobby - not their Bobby, not the man who tried his best to raise them and helped them whenever he could, but still Bobby - chopping his head off, the blood lust and rage flowing through his veins. Then they slowly filter through as Chuck continues. “I’m sorry, kid. That’s a crappy ending. You and your brother deserved better.”  
  
“Yeah, right”, Sam mutters.  
  
“No, I mean it. It hurts me to see you go out like that.” At that Chuck turns around, fixing his gaze on Sam again and unlike before his eyes seem to have grown the slightest bit softer. “Listen, I know our friendship has seen better days, but you have to know, you and your brother matter to me. Deeply. You still do.” Again, Sam can’t keep from rolling his eyes. It’s true, Chuck does care, but it’s the care of a sadistic prick and Sam would give anything not to have to endure it. He’s about to bite out a sarcastic remark, hoping it might help him find his footing again, but then Chuck is moving forward, his gaze still soft, even fond and Sam tries weakly to tug at the restraints again, but he knows it’s useless, knows that this is not an opening Chuck would have left him, knows that even if he managed to break free somehow, Chuck could restrain him again and yet every fiber in his being wants to run away.  
  
Even the small movement sends shocks of pain through his wrecked shoulder, but Sam’s gasp of pain gets caught in his throat, a soundless whimper, because then Chuck takes one last step forward, but he doesn’t stop coming closer as he leans forward. His hand lands on Sam’s thigh and Sam freezes as Chuck pets his leg once, twice. “I want better for you both.”  
  
Sam swallows hard, his mind whirring and he forces out the first question that comes to his mind, hoping to get Chuck to monologue about anything else, to get him to take a step back or hit Sam or anything that’s not him hovering so close, much too close. “Where’s Eileen?” The question makes guilt rise in his throat like bile, thick and slimy. (Chuck had used her, just like he used everyone else, and Sam should have known that the spell was too easy, too convenient, but he had been so desperate for a win and now Eileen had paid the price for it again.)  
  
Chuck rolls his eyes at Sam’s question, as if Sam was an annoying child that Chuck had to entertain. “She’s fine. I powered her down in a broom closet. Don’t change the subject”, he admonishes and despite the relief that floods through Sam - he didn’t get someone else killed, not this time at least, and of course Eileen’s not fine, there’s no way she can be after what Chuck put her through, but, at least, she’s alive - his gut also cramps uncomfortably. His wrists rotate against the restraints again, but there’s no give, there never is.  
  
But if Chuck wants to talk about his story, his grand finale, then Sam can give that to him. “I’ve seen your plans. Dean and me. Cain and Abel.” Because, of course, Chuck wants them to kill each other, wants a remake of his greatest hits. Sam’s so tired of his life being controlled as if he was a puppet on a string and he’s even more exhausted of dancing to Chuck’s tune.  
  
Chuck bristles at that. “You don’t know what you saw, Sam.” It’s patronizing, parent to unruly child, God to His subject and it makes bile raise in Sam’s throat. He’s struggled too much with his trust in his own perception over the years, he doesn’t need Chuck to tell him that.  
  
“I know it didn’t look better to me.” It’s subjective, his own reality, something he knows can be tempered with, but for now it’s what he clings too.  
  
Chuck throws his hand out in a violent jabbing motion. “Okay, so that way? You being monsters? You being killed off by your friends?” And then Chuck is all up in his face again, voice raised, his hands on Sam’s thighs, grabbing them this time. “You really like that ending better?”  
  
For a moment Sam doesn’t reply and Chuck’s eyes tighten further, fury radiating through him, then, when Sam still doesn’t answer, can’t answer because he does and he doesn’t, self-determination raging against choking guilt that he’s making a wrong choice again and again and again and people get hurt because of him. Sneering, Chuck pushes off and spins and steps out of Sam’s line of sight and Sam feels even more vulnerable. He’s trying desperately not to think back to other times where he’s felt this vulnerable, but the comparisons aren’t hard to draw. He’s had to be afraid for his life often, of course, that is nothing new, but being at the mercy of an angry entity that has so many more interesting things to destroy him with than torture or to simply kill him will never not be terrifying.  
  
He desperately draws in ragged breaths and seconds pass, but no hand comes to fist in his hair and rip him back, toppling him, no sudden onslaught of violence from behind where he can’t predict it. Instead there’s nothing and he knows Chuck hasn’t left him, is just giving him some space to answer, knowing that the treat of what he could do at any time is enough to horrify Sam bad enough that he can barely think straight.  
  
“Better”, he mumbles, the words barely more than a breath across his lips and then he drags in another deep breath to fill them with strength he only barely feels. “It’ll be better. If we win- When we win. When we beat you, I will make it better.” Suddenly the words get easier, as anger flows through him.  
  
A hand on his right shoulder and Chuck’s breath against his left ear a second later shatters that anger as his heart rate skyrockets again. “You can’t, Sam. I know, I gave you free will and choice and all that and I love that about you, always so heroic, but don’t you see? It’s never been enough to save anyone you love. It’s never been enough to save you.”  
  
Chuck’s grip loosens, only to return a heartbeat later, but colder, crueler and then a new-old voice speaks. “I thought I taught you that.”  
  
Sam freezes even as Chuck steps around him, a gentle smile on his lips that doesn’t reach his empty eyes. The fingers dig deeper into his shoulder and then a forked tongue flickers against his ear and Sam can’t breathe, this shouldn’t be happening, he’s dead, he should be dead, but Lucifer is behind him, solid like an iceberg and Sam can just sit there frozen like rabbit caught by not one, but two snakes.  
  
“Maybe you just need to be reminded of your place”, Chuck muses. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but… You leave me no other choice. So, I thought I’d give you a friendly reminder of what I can do to you.” Chuck settles onto a chair he just magicked out of thin air, folding his legs as he rests his chin on his hand, watching Lucifer’s fingers travel up Sam’s throat, their touch deceptively gentle. Sam expects violence, tries to cower from it, memories of the cage wafting up unbidden, but then Chuck smiles. “Don’t worry, Sam. He’s not gonna torture you. Not right now anyway. ‘Cause, you were right, I do like to watch and I’m kinda done with gore for tonight.  
  
The threat is clear even before Lucifer lets his fingers brush over Sam’s lips gently parting them and Sam can’t even flinch back, because it presses him against Lucifer behind him, exposes his throat further to the cool breath that wafts from Lucifer’s mouth, causing goosebumps.  
  
For a small eternity there’s just Lucifer’s fingers carefully exploring his face, running through his hair, over his eyebrows, trailing down his cheeks and then down his throat again and under his open flannel under his shirt.  
  
“This isn’t real”, Sam bites out, because Lucifer is dead, Dean killed him, sacrificed his own autonomy to save Sam and Jack from him, and in retaliation Lucifer hooks his fingers into claws, dragging them over Sam’s chest, certainly feeling as if they will leave angry red scratch marks.  
  
Chuck tilts his head, a fond smile on his lips again as if he can’t believe that Sam is still trying to fight him on this. “No, it’s not. But does that matter? It’s gonna feel real enough.” Lucifer seems to take this as an invitation, pulling his hands out of Sam’s shirt and then dragging it up, bundling it under his arms and then he lets his hands roam free again.  
  
Sam screws his eyes shut, body taut and frozen under Lucifer’s hands. He can do this, he’s survived Lucifer before. At least now he knows it’s not real. Lucifer mouths at his throat, teeth scraping against skin, just scraping not sinking and tearing, but disgust roils through Sam anyway. His fingers inch downward, brushing against the top of Sam’s jeans and then slowly dipping further down. Sam’s stomach knots and terror shoots up his spine.  
  
He feels like he’s gonna be sick and for a moment he wonders if Chuck would still be interested in his own private little peepshow if Sam threw up all over himself. The thought makes a sudden laugh burst out of him, high-pitched and manic. He can feel Lucifer stop in his ministrations, probably confused - Sam never laughed in the cage, not once - but the laugh keeps bubbling out of him.  
  
“What’s so funny, Sam?” Chuck leans forward now, clearly intrigued.  
  
“You are. I mean… if you think about it, it’s hilarious. Here you are, the most powerful entity in the known universe, and you can’t even get a decent pay-per-view.” Chuck’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t try to interrupt Sam as he goes on. “This isn’t even something new. This is just a boring rerun, Sammy Gets Screwed, the anniversary edition, your own personal burlesque show. That’s just my life, buddy, that’s nothing new.” He fixes his eyes on Chuck and welcomes the cold anger that radiates from him. For a second Chuck looks ready to smite him, all self-righteous fury, but then he lets out a deep breath, his cheek ticking violently and Sam thinks he might feel the earth vibrate slightly at Chuck’s gnashing of teeth.  
  
“I see. And of course, you’re right. This is nothing new. Not for you at least.” Chuck gets up and steps close again, materializes the chair closer to Sam, so they are face to face, knees touching. Lucifer’s touch dissolves, but the cold remains. “I mean, really, who got to you first? That ghost-chick Constance or your old college buddy Brady. I mean, you were really drunk during your first time together. That’s not good consent. And then there were Meg and Ruby and Becky and Toni and of course, Lucifer. Really, it’s kinda pathetic if you look at it like that. But there’s one thing I need you to know. I created them, yes. I wrote the script - or parts of it. But just like you and Dean, they had free will. Azazel could have chosen not to try and free Lucifer. Constance Welsh didn’t actually need to try and make you cheat with her. She could have just tried to kill you, but what a waste that would have been. Ruby and Toni didn’t need to sleep with you to make you trust them, but they both knew it was the easiest and most enjoyable way, especially for you. And Lucifer… well, of course, you could say the Mark twisted him and it definitely did, but, you know, on some level he really wanted you. I mean… who wouldn’t? You are one of my best creations after all. Since you enjoy your analogies so much, let me put it this way: I watched, sure, but I didn’t direct the show. I had no need to, not until you and your brother decided to shoot me. And everything you did, everything you felt, all your dirty little secrets, how you felt you deserved it, how you liked it even… those were all you.”  
  
Old shame floods through Sam, Chuck grinning when he sees he struck a nerve. But it’s dulled, not as strong as Sam knows it might have hit him a year or two ago. Maybe it’s the way this is utterly overwhelming, stretching into the bizarre, or maybe it’s just that Sam has enough trauma to last him a thousand lifetimes and with that a lot of experience in burying his pain. He takes another deep, shuddering breath and locks eyes with Chuck again. It takes effort, more than Sam would ever admit out loud. With Lucifer gone and that threat passed, adrenaline trickling away, Sam’s body feels heavy, but he manages. “Maybe that’s true. Maybe you’re lying. Either way… it doesn’t really matter. My answer is still screw you. Maybe I’ll win, maybe you will, but I won’t give up, not just yet and you can’t take that from me. Unless you wanna kill me, take me off the playing board for good, and we both know a dead soldier is less interesting than a rebelling one.”  
  
Chuck sighs and there seems to be true sadness in his eyes for a moment - probably about missing a great show. Then he leans back and with a wave of his hand, Sam’s shirt is pulled down again, his plaid even buttoned at a few of the lower buttons. Chuck pouts slightly and he suddenly stands up, toppling the chair with his sudden movement, but it never clatters to the ground. “Well, now that the mood is completely ruined… I guess I shouldn’t have expected otherwise. The Winchester stubbornness is famous after all. But it means I also get you and your brother, always breaking the rules. And that’s what I love about you, Sam. So heroic. So Promethean.” Then Chuck’s face grows dark again. “But there’s still so much about the fabric of the universe that you don’t know… that you can’t know. ‘Cause you’re only human. But I’m God. Think about what I showed you. Look beyond the Mark, beyond you and Dean fanging out - heartbreaking, but not the headline news.”  
  
Chuck changed the subject now, swerved far and Sam’s mind races back to the vision. He’s tired, exhausted and beaten, his skin crawling and it feels like he’s getting whiplash from the way Chuck’s jumping around. But he remembers how Jody had said that there had been more vampires, so many more than they expected.  
  
“The… the monsters.”  
  
And Chuck beams at that. “The monster”, he confirms. “Without me, it’s a law of nature - dark forces prevail, monsters rule, and you, your brother, and everyone you love will die.” By now Sam can follow him again, realizes he’s just been part of a draft, an unfinished and unsatisfying one, scraped into the ideas bin, like so many of the dreams he’s been having. “Can you really live with that?”  
  
He could. Of course he could. He’s been nursed on guilt pretty much ever since his mother died. But he really, really doesn’t want to.

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever finish any of my fanfictions that I don't start and finish in a haze of "If I don't write this, I will have nightmares about it, bc my brain created the scenario and It Wants Out"? One day mayhaps, but tonight? Nope. One day I'll finish some of my good and fluffy fanfics, but for now Sam suffering seems to be the only thing my brain can focus on long enough to finish it. So congrats to my 5 loyal readers, here's another one from the Yike Factory (100% child labor free).


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